


Voyage 1969

by petalbridges



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Air Force, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Androids, M/M, Military themes, Political Drama, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, astrophysicist Oikawa, fighter pilot Iwaizumi, knowing me? we will get philosophical, soft science fiction, the american southwest will be featured bc it's my story and i make the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29671947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalbridges/pseuds/petalbridges
Summary: in July 1969, the US National Air and Space Administration landed the Apollo 11 mission on the moon, ending a years-long global race to the stars.now, it's 2042 and the race is back on - in the dust of the desert rather than the soil of the moon, in fighter jets rather than rockets, and in the shadows rather than the public spotlight.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 34
Kudos: 98





	1. dreaming of the crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes, the queen of niche aus returns with her extremely specific interests and knowledge
> 
> this entire premise started from a tweet by [linds @staroikawas](https://twitter.com/staroikawas/status/1348359787973586947?s=20)([ao3 g6force](https://archiveofourown.org/users/g6force)). it was also inspired and motivated by some of my favorite works, including interstellar, captain marvel, star trek, the ender's game series, do androids dream of electric sheep, and cytus, among many, many others.
> 
> thank you to [rae](https://twitter.com/sailor_iwaoi) (ao3 your_raeofsun) and [scout](https://twitter.com/foggystw?s=20) (ao3 foggys) for their endless patience, constructive criticism, and screaming <3

**F-16 CRASH IN THE NEVADA DESERT**

_ Nellis AFB, Nevada, USA _

An F-16 fighter jet crashed on Thursday morning in Nevada, pilot is presumed dead, according to Nellis Air Force Base officials.

The crash is believed to have occurred around 9 am local time, near a small mountain range about 90 miles northwest of Las Vegas.

At this point, the pilot was simply identified as an officer of Nellis AFB. Search and rescue efforts will continue, but “all indications are that he did not survive.”

The cause of the crash is still unknown, officials stated, but a preliminary investigation is underway. 

Nellis Air Force Base, as well as several civilian agencies, have dispatched personnel to the site.

_ [This story will be updated as more information becomes available.] _

* * *

**BREAKING: REMAINS FOUND AT SITE OF F-16 CRASH**

_ Las Vegas, Nevada, USA _

Human remains were located at the site of an F-16 fighter jet crash last week, according to Nellis Air Force Base officials. 

There has been no statement from a coroner regarding if these remains belong to the pilot involved in the crash. In their statement, Nellis Air Force Base reaffirmed it will “continue search and rescue efforts until the pilot’s condition is determined with certainty.” 

The F-16 belonged to the 41st Fighter Squadron and was taking part in routine surveillance and training exercises. While the cause of the crash has not yet been determined, officials stated it was “most likely engine damage,” as the F-16 is a single-engine jet that has been flown since the 1970s. 

The name of the pilot has not been released to the public. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


**MEMORIAL HELD FOR DOWNED PILOT AT NELLIS**

_ Las Vegas, Nevada, USA _

The pilot involved in last month’s F-16 crash has been identified as Lieutenant Colonel Hajime Iwaizumi. A private memorial service will be hosted by the 41st Fighter Squadron this evening. 

Lt Col Hajime “Maverick” Iwaizumi, 32, was a well-respected member of the 41st and beloved by his fellow pilots and crew. Hailing from San Francisco, California, he is the only son of Retired Colonel Hideo Iwaizumi, USAF veteran and former commanding officer of Travis Air Force Base. 

Lt Col Iwaizumi, whose grandparents immigrated to the United States from Japan in 1969, grew up in Northern California before attending the University of California, Irvine. After graduating with degrees in Political Science and East Asian Studies, he was commissioned as an officer in the United States Air Force, finishing top of his class in both Basic Flight Training and Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, CA. 

He was known as a stern but guiding presence at Nellis Air Force Base, where he commanded the 41st Fighter Squadron. Lt Col Iwaizumi also served one tour of duty as a deputy commander during Operation Pacifica and earned the title of Ace (five or more air-to-air kills).

As many other USAF installations have been integrated into the Space Command, Nellis AFB, in conjunction with Luke and Edwards AFBs, remains the heart of the Earth-based USAF operations, with the 41st Fighter Squadron serving as a tactical air combat and reconnaissance unit under the 57th Operations Group. Formerly, Nellis hosted the Space Innovation and Development Center before its inactivation and the subsequent creation of a dedicated Space Command in 2019. 

Under Lt Col Iwaizumi’s direction, the 41st Fighter Squadron has been highly decorated and its pilots recognized with honors. In 2037, Lt Col Iwaizumi was briefly reassigned to the Space Force, before returning to the Air Force in 2040 and taking command of the 41st.

In a statement, a Nellis spokesperson expressed “their deepest sadness at the accident which led to the death of a kind friend, excellent officer, and upstanding gentleman,” and will “take all necessary precautions with the intent of preventing any similar incidents in the future.” 

During his time in the Air Force, Ret Col Iwaizumi served three tours of duty as well as commanded Travis Air Force Base for two years. He retired in 2023 and passed away in 2039. His son will be added to the Iwaizumi family marker in the California Memorial Cemetery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/petalbridges)


	2. genesis: mercury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matsukawa decides that in the heat-haze of loneliness his mind had given him a friend, and for now, he was content with pretending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: yeah i'll give myself like a month no rush  
> also me: *constant brainrot, writes this in a week*
> 
> thank you once again to [rae](https://twitter.com/sailor_iwaoi) for betaing and helping me put together all my wild ideas. thank you [scout](https://twitter.com/foggystw?s=20) for listening to me scream.
> 
> dnoodle drew the most [gorgeous art of iwa](https://twitter.com/denimnoodle/status/1366077739577540620?s=20) in his jacket (reffed off photos of my flight jacket!!) please take a look and show it some love it's so perfect <333

_“Rows of houses, sound asleep; only street lights notice me. I am desperate, if nothing else, in a holding pattern to find myself.”_

Sleeping at Last, _Mercury_

Oikawa Tooru sets his tablet down on the table. 

He realized that his coffee had grown cold in the time that it took him to read the front-page news article as he brought the mug to his lips and took a small sip. It’s too bitter, lukewarm, and flat in the way that leaves an aftertaste clinging to the roof of your mouth. For just a moment he thinks of abandoning it altogether until he remembers the example he’s supposed to be setting, one that doesn’t encourage wastefulness. Sighing, he pushes away from the table, standing and walking to the counter. 

Just as he’s placing the mug into the microwave he hears the creak of the stairs. The carpet does well to mute the old house, but the rest of the world is still sleeping soundly at this early hour, so each quiet step disrupts the still air. 

“What are you doing up, Lucia?”

He doesn’t have to turn around to know it’s her, but when he does look over his shoulder he’s greeted by the sight of a tired ten-year-old still in her pajamas, a paperback book clutched in one hand, and her hair mussed from a restless sleep. 

“Couldn’t sleep, so I was reading.”

“Reading what?”

She pads across the kitchen to where he is and holds out the book so he can see. Its cover is painted in dark blues, reds, and blacks, the title proudly emblazoned across the top in silver letters. 

“ _Speaker for the Dead_.”

“Are you reading that for school?”

“No, I took it from your collection.” A pause. “Is that okay?”

Asking for forgiveness, not permission. She learned that from him. 

He chuckles at her afterthought of a question; he told her long ago that she was allowed to read any of the books in his study. She tore through them at a breakneck pace, finishing entire books in a weekend; Sunday nights spent discussing the finer points of science fiction at dinner. At first, he worried about sharing such dense topics with her being so young, but Lucia took it all in stride, listening intently to his thoughts but heeding his warning to develop her own ideas, rather than take his opinion as fact.

He was indescribably proud of her.

“Sit, mi corazón, I’ll make you hot chocolate,” he promises, already reaching into the cupboard for the instant mix and a mug. The microwave dings loudly behind him and he sets the steaming coffee on the table to cool. 

She and Oikawa coexist seamlessly in this little house - this morning is just another example of that, Lucia passing him to sit in her designated spot at the table just big enough for two, Oikawa wordlessly moving out of her way as he fills the electric kettle at the sink. Careful hands stir cocoa into hot water, spoon clinking delicately against the porcelain mug.

Oikawa sets the drink in front of Lucia, turning the handle in her direction, and takes his place across from her. She has his discarded tablet in her hands, eyes skimming the article he just finished. 

“Where’s Las Vegas?” 

“About eight and a half hours west of us.”

“Even with the bullet train?” 

He takes a sip of his coffee. Lucia set the tablet on the table, looking at him expectantly, and Oikawa can see the headline written in bold, upside-down letters. 

_MEMORIAL HELD FOR DOWNED PILOT AT NELLIS._

“There’s no rail from Albuquerque to Las Vegas, so it’s eight and a half hours by the highway. You can take the old train system to Flagstaff and drive from there, but it only takes an hour or two off the trip.”

She nods, considering this.

He waits for another question, but the conversation ends there. She’s staring at the table again, tired and thoughtful, hands curled around her hot chocolate. Lucia is ten, he remembers — it’s a fact he often forgets when faced with her quick wit and wisdom befitting someone years older than her. Lucia is kind and empathetic, still at the age where she cares for others unconditionally, but this story is so far from her personal sphere that she probably cannot even conceive the gravity of a stranger’s death. The pilot’s Japanese name doesn’t catch her eye like it does Oikawa’s; she isn’t trained in aerospace engineering, so she’s unaware of just how rare plane crashes in routine situations like this one are.

Ah, there’s a thought. _Engine damage,_ the article from a week ago said. It was correct in stating that the F-16 had been flown since the 70s, nearly eighty years ago now, but it had been flown for so long precisely because it was so sturdy. But, the article failed to mention a major detail — that most of the planes in circulation weren’t from the 70s and 80s, but from the 10s and 20s. This year, the oldest would be hardly thirty years old. 

Multi-million dollar planes barely into their lifetimes, impeccably managed and flown only by the best, machines built to last. Yet one crashed unexpectedly in the Nevada desert. 

He’s pulled from his musings by Lucia setting her empty mug down on the table, and looks up just in time to watch her yawn.

“You should go back to sleep,” he says gently. 

“But-” she starts, only to be interrupted by another wide yawn. 

“No buts, mi corazón. There’s nothing to do today, and you need the rest.”

He worries he’ll have to argue with her, but she only blinks twice and stands to make her way across the kitchen. She pauses, turns on a heel, and walks back to drape herself over his shoulders. With Oikawa seated, she’s the perfect height to rest her head against his neck. 

“Te amo, Papi.”

“Te amo, Lucia. I’ll see you when you wake up.” 

Lucia ascends the stairs to her room, and Oikawa watches the sunrise through their kitchen window. His coffee has once again grown cold, and it sits abandoned next to the black tablet screen and his copy of _Speaker for the Dead_.

* * *

Life for Matsukawa Issei was simple. In the mornings, he woke before the sun, took a halfhearted shower in a cramped bathroom, ran a hand through his overgrown curls, and walked four blocks to the corner store. 

His job was nice, all things considered. Mercury, Nevada was just large enough to be called a town. A major highway ran right through it, meaning he met all kinds of people in passing. Many of his interactions were polite but short, just long enough to buy a drink or snack and be on their way. Others were odd, dressed in fantastical outfits or blurting something strange enough that it left him thinking for several hours afterward. Occasionally, he would get into a fleeting conversation — one that left him feeling a little empty, a little lonely, a little lost. 

Matsukawa had always existed rather passively with regard to his own self - not in an overtly self-destructive way, but such that he never seemed to do more than strictly necessary. He lived his life simply, but not carelessly. He didn’t reach out to make friends and was not offended when others found him standoffish. The town was quiet enough that he could, in theory, meet everyone, but he hadn’t made the effort when he first arrived, and now the window of opportunity to take advantage of neighborly kindness had long passed. 

In all honesty, being unknown was preferable. 

The man who walks into the corner store that afternoon looked the part of an animal loose and on the prowl - looming and threatening, straight-faced and sure. A wounded animal, perhaps, with an obvious weight to his shoulders, a tenseness he couldn't shake. The thick material of his olive jacket hid the suspiciously dark patch on his black turtleneck, and aviator sunglasses hid his eyes.

Matsukawa wasn’t sure what made him speak up, but he did, right when the man deposited onto the counter his meager haul of granola bars and a few basic first-aid supplies that would hardly help with his ailment. 

“Are you alright?”

The man looked up, scrunched his brows together. “Yes,” he lied through his teeth.

Matsukawa stared at him for half a second longer before lowering his gaze. “What branch?”

“What?”

They both stare at the jacket hanging across the man’s shoulders at the same time, so obviously not fashion, but function, adorned with velcro patches and the clover insignia of an officer.

“Air Force,” said the pilot.

“Ah,” Matsukawa replies simply, hands sorting through the crumpled bills he had been handed. “I was too. Not for long.”

Some polite, well-meaning American people raised in a country that said the pledge of allegiance like a prayer might’ve said thank you for your service, but Matsukawa was none of those things and had never believed much in pledges of loyalty or in prayers to gods, so he said nothing. The pilot didn’t look like he expected him to either.

Perhaps it is the bright light of a desert day, or the handful of perfectly sculpted clouds rolling across the sky outside, or the way that the last five years of Matsukawa’s life felt like a hazy, unreal sleepwalk, but he’s sure that he’s dreaming.

“So, Maverick?”

Iwaizumi’s head snaps up before he can stop himself, and his aviators fall down the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s on your jacket, and I’m assuming the jacket is yours. Nice callsign.”

“Thank you?” says Iwaizumi, and it comes out unsure. Matsukawa presses on anyway.

He’s not sure why he kept talking, but this is the most Matsukawa has spoken out loud to another human in months, if not years, and it doesn’t matter if Maverick is a figment of his imagination. “I never much liked callsigns. Some think of them as nicknames, but I like regular names fine enough. I’m Matsukawa.”

Iwaizumi hesitates for a minute, unsure. _Maverick_ was a name not given to him lightly, one he proved over and over in the way that he existed untethered to others. He never asked for help, never allowed others to fawn over him, never went to Flight Med if he could help it. He rode out injuries and sickness, insisting he was stronger for it. He was staunchly individualistic, and though it made him an excellent leader, it made him terrible at relying on anyone else. 

But here in the desert, that kind of stubborn individuality and passivity meant death, and after hours of wandering the barren wastelands of Nevada, Iwaizumi gave in to the stinging pains in his shoulders and the warmth of blood across his skin.

“Iwaizumi,” he answers.

Matsukawa’s eyes flicker to the newspapers stacked by the register as he realizes that ah, yes, he’s dreaming after all. He’s talking to a dead man. 

A dead man, a mirage with shaking hands, standing in front of him in this tired shop with the air filled with dust illuminated by the sun. Maybe the desert is slowly killing him, and he’s seeing ghosts. 

In any case, something in his gut is telling him to reach out, and Matsukawa indulges in this dream he’s living.

“Let me help, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi is mostly silent, and chooses not to complain about being tended to. He does say thank you though, as Matsukawa’s steady hands clean dried blood with antiseptic, wrap his arms in white bandages that go pinkish-red almost instantly. 

“How hard did you land? It’s lucky you didn’t break a collarbone,” Matsukawa muses, offering an ice pack. Iwaizumi hisses when he holds it lightly to his bruises, where the straps had held him in place in the fighter jet’s seat. “Ejection is a violent process.”

“Nothing I wasn’t trained for,” answers Iwaizumi, casually. “Were you a pilot?”

“Better. Mechanic. Tactical Maintenance, if you want to be specific. I know those planes inside out. Now how did you manage to crash a fuckin’ jet?”

Iwaizumi grins. Matsukawa decides that in the heat-haze of loneliness his mind had given him a friend, and for now, he was content with pretending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come hang out on [twitter!](twitter.com/petalbridges)
> 
> lucia victoria oikawa started from [emma iwaoisdude's](https://twitter.com/iwaoisdude) idea and went from there. [twt moment](https://twitter.com/i/events/1363531866943279104?s=20) [we love her sm](https://twitter.com/search?q=lucia%20victoria%20oikawa&src=typed_query)


End file.
